


When it comes to love you're an easy fight

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Drunk Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Harry never really could say no to people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it comes to love you're an easy fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallaboutzarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutzarry/gifts).



> written for the prompt: Zayn and Harry broke up however long ago for whatever reason, and now they decide to try again, from the beginning with a fresh start. It's never that easy though, is it?
> 
> this was a pinch hit and my first (very late) fic. enjoy.
> 
> big up to the mods for not murdering me. i know you must've considered it.

Harry remembers the first time they met like it happened yesterday, memory from over a year ago as clear as day in his head.

His roommate slash self-appointed best mate Niall had dragged him out of their shared dorm for an obligatory "boys night out" much to his dismay. He was absolutely piss drunk off of $1 long islands in a shitty campus bar to celebrate the end of midterms, finally letting loose after a grueling start to his first year at University, when he promptly spilled his drink all over the front of someone's shirt.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath, already offering this person the shirt off his back when he looked up and met their eyes. "Oh, shit," he said again, staring as a grin began creeping it's way onto the stranger's face. He was beautiful-- tan skin and dark eyes with a beard that Harry wanted to feel against his face. Against his thighs--

"Hello there," the stranger had interrupted, promptly shaking him out of his fantasy.

"Hi," Harry rushed out, color seeping into his cheeks. "God I'm an idiot, I'm really sorry, I'll buy you a new shirt I swear," he finished, flustered and babbling like a maniac as he tried to apologize for the spilled drink, stumbling over his words like a baby deer with new legs.

"S'all right love, no harm done," the stranger continued, amusement evident in his tone. Harry flushed an even deeper shade of red at the endearment. "Think it gives my shirt a bit of character, innit?"

Harry just nodded his head rapidly like an idiot, eyes wide as he stared at the stain.

"So, what's your name then?"

"M'name's Harry."

It wasn't long before he learned the victim of his sloppiness' name was Zayn, he was 22, and a postgraduate student at a neighboring university, studying creative writing and hoping to publish a novel someday. He told Harry about his three sisters who he adored, and his parents who were still together living in Bradford where he grew up.  

It was an even shorter amount of time after that that he found himself leaving the bar, his hand tangled with Zayn's as they stumbled back to Zayn's flat, barely able to keep their hands off of each other the entire walk there.

They had sex that night, the bed frame protesting as Zayn fucked Harry, as he took him apart with soft words and gentle hands.

By the time they finished, the sun was coming up and Harry was sprawled across the bed, fucked out and exhausted, a hangover settling behind his eyes. Zayn had gotten up to use the bathroom after he offered to call Harry a cab, pulling on a pair of joggers as he went.

Confused, Harry sat up and looked around the room as the first licks on sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the room he spent the majority of his night in. On the nightstand sat a picture of Zayn with a girl, a pretty blonde with blue eyes and a wide smile, both of them grinning goofily with the Eiffel Tower behind them. Picturesque.

Harry sat dumbfounded when Zayn had returned and caught him staring at the photo. He calmly explained that he had a fiancé (who was returning home that morning), mostly to appease his overbearing parents, but still very much wanted to continue to see Harry.

Harry just nodded along dumbly as if that were a normal occurrence, engaged men taking him home and fucking him until dawn, and still agreed when Zayn asked if he wanted to shower together.

He left an hour later, well-fucked with a new contact in his phone, brain reeling over the past 12 hours. He promised himself in the cab ride home that he wasn't going to meddle, that this was a one-off thing that he was going to forget about.

It was a few days later that he got a text from Zayn asking to see him again.

Harry never really could say no to people.

\---

Eventually their meetings became a regular thing. They'd talk and they'd fuck and they'd talk some more, without so much of a mention about Zayn's situation. It was just supposed to be a bit of messing around in college, but eventually their dynamic began to change. Zayn started texting Harry just to chat, or would send him random pictures he finds funny just to make Harry laugh. They start meeting up outside of their bedrooms, grabbing coffee or a quick lunch together, and Harry knew he was letting himself get too comfortable. Every kiss goodbye pulled him further down the rabbit hole because he wanted something from Zayn that he couldn't have, but he would rather continue to play pretend than accept that.

\---

It goes on like that for a while. With Harry sitting by his phone, anxiously waiting for Zayn to call next, to let him know his fiancé, Perrie is her name, Harry's come to learn, is out of town or out with her friends for the night. He waits for the text that lets him know he has an hour or two available for Harry if he wants it.

He always wants it.

His willingness to drop everything at Zayn's beckoning call should probably concern him, but Harry's never been big on self preservation.

It's scary, when he thinks about it, how attached Harry's let himself get to Zayn. How attached he always lets himself get. He's willing to give his entire self over just in hopes of getting a sliver of reciprocation. Harry's obsession with needing to be liked, needing to be needed, quiets the voice in the back of his mind telling him this is a bad idea.

He's heard it all before. How he jumps too fast and gives too much, throws himself in the deep end before looking to see if there's a rope to pull him back to the surface.

Zayn has the rope. He's just too busy tying knots to toss it to Harry.

\---

They're at Harry's flat as they usually are; he has a one bedroom apartment to himself now and they don't have to worry about being caught here, a pseudo-safe space for their affair.

Harry is having an affair.

"You have to tell her," Harry whispers into the dark room, idly tracing patterns across Zayn's arm wrapped tight around his middle. "We can't," he shakes his head and pauses, reconsidering his words. "I can't keep doing this, Z. It's not right."

The conversation is more or less a lost cause. Harry knows. A year of seeing each other has taught him that Zayn is nothing if not an expert in deflection, somehow able to dance his way out of anything he doesn't feel like talking about.

He never really feels like talking about much when it comes to their situation. At least not to Harry.

Zayn prefers to communicate with his body; with powerful thrusts and skin on skin; sticky with sweat and covered in bruises and scratches. He talks to Harry through muffled groans against his lips, a symphony in its own right. And for a while, that was enough for Harry. He's not sure when it stopped.

Zayn mumbles something unintelligible that sounds something like 'I know,' into Harry's hair, tugging him closer to his body and ignoring him in favor of nuzzling his face into the nape of Harry's neck. He presses light, fleeting kisses there, temporarily distracting Harry from his train of thought. He eventually coaxes him into craning his neck back far enough that Zayn can tongue and bite at the spot under his ear that makes his toes curl. Harry let's himself get lost in the feeling, discontent lingering in the back of his mind. His body is Zayn's personal canvas to splatter with bruises and bite marks, a masterpiece in its own right.

"Zayn, please, we can't--" Harry cuts off with a sharp groan as Zayn sucks hard on his neck, his pulse throbbing under Zayn's wet mouth. Familiar fingers play with the waistband of his boxers with light, teasing touches that drive Harry absolutely mad. He feels his cock start to stir and wills himself to maintain control of the situation for once. His brain is screaming at him to stop, but Zayn's hand creeps further down, coaxing Harry into full hardness with gentle strokes. A whimper leaves his mouth as Zayn drags his hand lower to play with his balls, rolling them in his palm and thumbing over them gently as he continues his assault on Harry's neck.

It's too much but not enough at the same time, so Harry's abandons his earlier hesitance and allows himself to get caught up in the pleasure of the heat of the moment. His cock is stiff with blood and desperate for friction, so he grabs Zayn's wrist and repositions his hand back over his cock, pressing down hard with both of his hands and grinding his hips up into Zayn's palm sloppily, panting like he can't help himself. Like he's aching for it.

He is, is the thing. Painfully so.

Zayn chuckles lowly at Harry's eagerness, breathing a soft, "yeah?" into the space where Harry's neck meets his shoulder, biting down hard before kissing the spot sweetly, soothing it with his tongue. Harry responds with a frantic nod of his head, biting out a strained, "yeah, yeah-- fuck," as Zayn grinds the heel of his palm roughly against his cock.

"God you need it so bad," Zayn says, voice low, his hand rough as he continues to palm lazily at Harry's cock. He circles his thumb around the head where he knows Harry's sensitive, knows he'll shudder and fight his brain on whether he wants it or not.

He always wants it. He always wants whatever Zayn is offering.

Harry's always been so easy for Zayn. Too easy. Zayn knows this, of course. Has used it to his advantage time and time again. He smirks knowingly against Harry's jaw, wrapping his hand around his cock once more, now hard and leaking at the tip, and mouths sloppily up his neck. He stops at his ear just to murmur a low, "c'mon babe, fuck my fist," tightening his grip and licking over the shell of his ear before pulling his earlobe between his teeth, squeezing his fist over the head of Harry's cock at the same time.

"Show me how bad you want it."

Harry moans like it's being ripped out of his chest and arches his back, his hips rocking on their own accord, chasing Zayn's touch. He's lost in the feeling, in the sure hand working him over like no one else knows how to. He's lost in Zayn, tangled in a forest of a boy that he walked into by mistake and can't seem find his way out of. He's not sure if he wants to.

He grabs the hand around his cock and squeezes it hard with his own, pumping his hips faster into the tight grip, chasing his orgasm as heat begins to pool in the pit of his stomach. His movements start to get erratic; hard, choppy thrusts with no real rhythm, his body begging for release.

"Zayn," he gasps, "Zayn, 'm gonna--" a moan racks through his body, his eyes rolling back at the feeling, the knot in his stomach twisting tight. "I'm so close," Harry whimpers in between heavy breaths, his chest heaving as his body nears its peak. He holds back, his brain's last-ditch attempt at stopping this and protecting him from himself. Zayn must be able to feel his hesitance because he leans down and brushes a few loose curls off his forehead and kisses his temple lightly, a stark contrast to how hard he's jerking Harry off now.

"Come for me baby," Zayn whispers, like it's some sort of a secret between the two of them. "Just let it go. You're alright babe, come on."

Harry's brain never stood a chance, not really.

He comes with a pained shout, biting down on his knuckles as he shoots ropes of come into Zayn's fist as he strokes him through his orgasm, holding him close as he trembles through the aftershocks.

Once Harry's calmed down, comfortably pliant in Zayn's arms he remembers what he was trying to say before Zayn got a hold of him like he always does.

Remembers that Zayn has a fucking fiancé, no matter how often he insists Harry should pay her no mind, and that she has no affect on what they have, whatever the fuck it is they have.

Remembers that there's a girl with a ring on her finger that Zayn goes home to every night, a girl who's met his family, that he fucks silly in their big bed in their bedroom, in the apartment they've shared together for nearly three years now. The same apartment Zayn fucked Harry senseless in, in every room and on every surface they could get their hands on while Perrie was away for a girls weekend. There's still a mysterious stain on the couch in the living room they never could quite get out.

Zayn somehow manages to paint the perfect fucking picture of domesticity, all while keeping Harry in his back pocket for safekeeping. Like an old toy on a shelf that he can't bear to throw away.

Harry doesn't know when he let his own self worth hit rock bottom. Crazy thing love is, isn't it?

And that's the scariest part. Harry knows he loves Zayn. Has known it for a while, really. He hasn't slept with anyone since Zayn became a part of his life, hasn't even spared anyone a passing glance. Because Zayn's the jealous type, saw a mark on Harry's throat once that he didn't put there and held him down fucked him so hard he couldn't remember the name of the person who did it even if he tried.

He doesn't want to.

Harry can still hear Zayn like a mantra in his head, hissing out _you're fucking mine_ over and over again as he pounded into him relentlessly. Harry had cried out, agreeing with a weak _yoursyoursyoursalwaysyours_ before Zayn came inside him, buried deep and bare, claiming Harry's body as his from the inside out.

Something sick inside of Harry manipulated the feeling of come dripping down his thighs and twisted it into a fucked up victory of sorts. Because he finally gave Zayn something she couldn't, and Harry knew he loved it. Loved knowing it was something Harry has never given to anyone before. Zayn swiped his fingertips through the mess, brought them to Harry's lips and watched him intently as his clever tongue worked as he sucked each finger clean.

"Fucking filthy," Zayn murmured, almost in awe, voice no louder than a whisper. He brought his hand back down to Harry's arse, pushing two of his fingertips inside, just teasing his sore rim lazily. Harry sighed, he loved the attention despite the discomfort and continued to let Zayn to have his way with him. He pushed his fingers inside to his knuckles and scissored them, eyes fixed as he watched a blurt of come drip out, wrenching out a groan from the back of Zayn's throat. "God that's gorgeous," he whispered before he pulled his fingers out quickly and brought his face down to Harry's entrance, a predatory smirk plastered on his face. He nipped at Harry's rim lightly, enough for Harry's head to appear over his shoulder, peering questioningly at Zayn. He locked eyes with him, still a little hazy with leftover traces of arousal thrumming through his veins when Zayn grunted out a low, "this fucking arse belongs to me," against his skin before he slipped his tongue inside of Harry and ate his own come out like he was starving for it.

Harry almost believed it then, still clings to the thread of hope that Zayn meant it. That he still means it.

_You're fucking mine._

It might as well have been _I love you_.

He knows it's foolish, he does, remaining blindly faithful to someone who won't even let an impending marriage get in the way of getting his dick wet, but he's always considered himself a romantic. A hopeless one, at that.

He gives himself a few more minutes of faux-happiness as Zayn grabs a tissue off the bedside table and cleans Harry up. He tosses it on the floor for later, wrapping Harry up in his arms again, as he cards his fingers through his sweaty curls, untangling the worst bits. He presses a kiss against the top of his head when he's done, and emotions barrel through Harry at light speed. The entire scene is overwhelming to Harry, teetering way too close to something Zayn won't let them have. He can't keep doing this. Not to himself and not to Perrie. He won't.

He sighs heavily, scrubbing his hand down his face. He knows how this is supposed to go. He's supposed to pretend the sex makes the hurt less painful, like it's an answer to Harry's desperate pleas. He's supposed to let Zayn hold him and coddle him, whispering sweet words in his ear until he falls asleep, and wake up alone, shrug as if he's not bothered, and wait for Zayn's next text. He has this down to a science.

These nights always go this way because Harry's too afraid to cause a scene and make Zayn leave for good. He let's himself get wrapped up in the feeling and forget about his own concerns no matter how loud they get. He ignores the lingering voice in the back of his head telling him this is wrong and let's Zayn use orgasms as glue to keep them together, because they both know it's too good to walk away. So they fuck and don't talk about it. It's easier that way. And Harry never wants to be difficult. He's relied on that ease to keep them together. To keep Zayn coming back.

He knows this will be hard.

Sitting up abruptly, Harry pulls Zayn's arm away from his waist and pushes the duvet off of him, suddenly feeling too hot in his own skin. Sensing something's wrong, Zayn sits up as well, hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Harry, hugging him from behind.

"What's the matter babe?" he questions softly, lightly petting at Harry's stomach as if he's ill. "Is everything alright?"

And Harry... Harry can't deal with that. He can't deal with Zayn pretending to be concerned for his wellbeing, because he's not. He's selfish is the thing, always wanting to have his cake and eat it too and Harry allowed him to do so. Encouraged it, even, with no regard to his own feelings. He knows it's time to put himself first. He's had enough, and he already let tonight spiral into something it wasn't supposed to. He's ready to rip the bandaid off.

Taking a deep breath, Harry shakes his head no, keeping his gaze downcast at his hands. He can feel Zayn's brows knit in confusion against his cheek. "I think... I think you should probably go," he whispers, his voice barely audible in the tense silence of the room. He fights the lump forming in his throat, willing the tears pooling in his eyes not to fall. Zayn hates to see him cry.

"I can't keep doing this anymore, Zayn. I'm not gonna let myself be strung along as your plaything while you figure yourself out, or whatever the fuck it is you're doing with her," Harry continues, his voice steadying, turning his head to face Zayn.

"Harry, you're not--" Zayn starts, barely getting the words out before Harry is interrupting him.

"Yes I am. Don't try play me like I'm some sort of a fool, Zayn. I'm not an idiot. We've been through enough for you to at least respect me that much," he snaps, not even trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "I deserve better. Fuck, _Perrie_ ,” his voice shakes, “Perrie deserves better. I know you know that. God I- I deserve so much fucking better," his voice cracks on the last syllable and the tears threaten to fall again.

Zayn untangles himself from Harry's body, scooting back on the bed so he can face Harry properly. He stares at him, face contorting in confusion. They never fight. Not over their relationship at least. Harry always backs off before Zayn can blow up, figures it’s easier for both of them that way.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Zayn not being a part of his life, even a small, hidden part, and if that meant shutting up and smiling along, Harry was okay with that.

"Perrie? Since when... Babe... where's this coming from? What's happened?" he questions, searching Harry's face for answers. Harry just shakes his head again, staring down at his lap. Tears start streaming down his cheeks and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, a nervous habit he has that Zayn's picked up on. "You've never had a problem with Perrie before..." he trails off and it's as if a light goes off in his head and suddenly Zayn looks as if he’s seeing red.

He reaches out and grabs Harry by the chin, forcing his head up, yanking him closer until his face is inches from his own. "Did you... are you fucking someone else?" he questions, laughing bitterly when Harry doesn't respond, no trace of humor in his voice when he continues. "Is that what this is about then? You're going out and getting fucked by other people and suddenly I'm not good enough for you? That's it, isn't it?" Zayn practically spits the last bit, his mouth turned down into a snarl, as anger floods his usually soft features.

"Do they fuck you the way I do babe?" Zayn purrs mockingly, his voice almost a whisper now. "Do they know how to make you feel good the way I do?"

"They're better," Harry smirks, boldness creeping in at the feeling of being in control for once. Of finally having the upper hand over Zayn.

"Bull fucking shit," Zayn snaps, absolutely livid now. "No one's better for you than me. No one else knows how to touch you the way I do. Knows how to make you beg for it like the cock starved slut you pretend not to be." He emphasizes this with a press of his thumb into a dark bruise at the base of Harry's throat, a whimper escaping his lips without his permission.

Zayn has a feral grin on his face when he continues. "No one but me knows you like to be fucked so hard you're pleading and crying that it's too much and you can't take it, fucking begging me to stop, but I never do," he chuckles. "No, I know that's exactly how you want to be fucked. I know you like the pain, get off on it, and always need it to hurt a bit. Until you're so overwhelmed you can't even help the tears. Remember how long it took you to tell me that? I didn't even blink an eye at before doing it for you and after all this you expect me to believe you found someone else who can fuck you better than me, baby?" His tone is condescending, mocking him.

Harry contemplates his next move, keeping his gaze locked on Zayn's when he decides to serve Zayn a does of his own medicine. He wants to inflict even just a fraction of the amount of pain he's subjected himself to the past two years onto Zayn. So he nods his head, eyes wide and unyielding as he lies straight to Zayn's face with his chin still locked in his grip.

"How long?" Zayn can't stop himself from asking, tightening his grip on Harry's face as his blood threatens to boil in his veins.

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head, refusing until Zayn leans in close enough that their lips could brush.

"I asked you how fucking long, Harry," Zayn's voice low and controlled. "Now answer me."

Harry manages to choke out a weak, "months," before Zayn releases him, rage radiating off of him in waves. Zayn stands up off the bed and walks away from Harry, his body shaking as if he’d willing himself to stay calm. He walks to the other side of the room before looking back at Harry, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes red and swollen with saltwater.

Zayn abandons whatever calm he had inside of him and punches a hole through the wall, cursing loudly.

" _Fuck,_ Harry!" he groans, his head in his hands as he processes what he just did.

Harry jumps, eyes wide with fear before narrowing them, screaming at Zayn to get out. "What the fuck are you staring at, get the fuck out!"

Harry's voice must bring Zayn back to his senses, as he quickly assesses the damage and immediately turns towards Harry to apologize. "Harry, I'm sorry, I- I wasn't thinking I--" he stutters out, eyes wide like a child caught misbehaving.

"That's your fucking problem, Zayn. You never fucking think," Harry retorts, exasperation clear in his voice. "All you think about is your fucking self and the next place you can stick your cock, so please, do me one last favor and get the fuck out," he sighs, resting his face between his knees, tacking on a feeble "please, Zayn," at the end, all the fight drained out of him.

Zayn just nods his head dumbly and looks around the floor for his shoes, unable to string together words. He slips his boots on and grabs his phone from the bedside table and pauses. Harry still has his head between his knees, his arms wrapped around him like a shield; as if he could feel Zayn's eyes on him, he mutters a weak "please, just go," not lifting his head again until he hears the bedroom door click shut.

After a few moments, Harry gets up and walks into the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it will go and strips out of his clothes slowly. He glances at himself in the mirror, his neck mottled with bruises in varying shades of red and purple. He presses his fingers into the marks, trailing them down his neck. His eyes are puffy and red, and his curls are matted down on the one side. He can't stand his own reflection. He hates Zayn sometimes. Hates that he leaves his traces all over his skin, makes sure Harry couldn't shake him if he tried.

He climbs into the tub and scrubs his skin red and raw, futilely trying to make himself feel clean again. Frustrated, he just lets himself sit on the floor of the bath, his legs pulled tight to his chest. He really let's himself really cry then, full body sobs racking through him and he sits until the water runs cold. He's an idiot. He let himself fall for Zayn when he knew he wouldn't be there to catch him. He did this to himself.

When the tears finally stop coming, Harry shuts off the water and stands up, wrapping himself in the fluffy robe Gemma gave him when he finally moved into his own apartment. She explained that, "everyone has the right to feel posh and pampered even in their own bathroom!" before planting a smacking kiss to his cheek and congratulating him on the new place.

He feels anything but that.

Padding out to his bedroom, he surveys the damage. The bed sheets are strewn across the floor and the pillows are a mess as well. There's a fist-sized hole in the wall by the door and a pair of Zayn's socks balled up next to the bed. There's also a pair of Zayn's headphones he left here for Harry since he's always losing his own, and a postcard of a tree frog Zayn picked up while on vacation with Perrie, claiming the frog was cute and reminded him of Harry.

He decides to sleep in the living room that night.

\---

It's two weeks before Harry deems himself human enough again to leave his flat for anything beyond going to class. Two of blissful uninterrupted silence because it turns out, Harry does have a shard of self preservation left and blocked Zayn’s number.

Niall has been up his arse the entire time, calling and texting him constantly just to check up on him, fulfilling all of his mandatory best mate duties with flying colors. Harry on the other hand has been ignoring him fully, moping and wallowing in self pity like a proper break-up victim, but he and Zayn weren't even _dating_. Harry needs to get a grip.

Three more weekends pass before Niall finally convinces Harry to go out and "drink and be merry and shake off that arsehole Zack or whatever his name is."

"You know that's not his name, Ni," Harry says bleakly, a grin spreading out across his face despite himself.

Niall just snorts. "'Course I do, doesn't mean I won't mess it up on purpose just to make ya laugh a little bit," he explains, as if it's obvious.

He's a good friend, Harry reckons. Better keep him around for the long haul.

Niall interrupts his thoughts with a loud clap. "Well, get that pretty arse in the bathroom, we have drinks that need to be drunk, and so do we!" he exclaims loudly, whooping a few times for emphasis. Harry just shakes his head and smiles, making his way down the hallway. He could use a night out.

\---

Harry is drunk. Spectacularly drunk at the same shitty college bar he met Zayn in, so when he spots him across the bar he can only really pretend to be surprised.

He's in the middle of a conversation with a cute but painfully uninteresting boy, (Jake? Jamie?) When he feels a familiar hand close around his wrist. He doesn't even need to turn to know who it is.

"Get your hand off of me," Harry says through a smile, not even breaking eye contact with Jake/Jamie but with a strain lingering in his voice.

"Harry-"

Harry's head snaps around at that, jerking his wrist from Zayn's grip.

"What do you want from me?" He sighs. "What could you possibly want now, Zayn?" Harry says, voice bored but eyes dark, keeping his composure for the sake of being in public.

"I want to talk to you," Zayn says coolly, giving Jake/Jamie a not too subtle once over.

Jake/Jamie seems to take the hint, turning to Harry with a sad smile. "Yeah, that's my cue," he jerks his head towards the bar. "I'll be over there, feel free to come and find me later, babe." He gives Zayn a nod and ignores Harry's weak protest to stay, making his way through the crowd and leaving the pair alone.

Harry's still scanning the crowd for him when Zayn interjects.

"Babe, huh?" he questions, voice low and controlled. "That's interesting."

Harry's head whips around at that. "Don't start with your bullshit tonight Zayn, I'm really not in the mood for it," he snaps, tone equally as icy. "I don't know how you somehow always manage to fuck up literally everything, but it's a real talent of yours, mate. You should put it on your résumé." He laughs bitterly and makes a show of tipping back the rest of his drink. "Now if you'll kindly excuse me--"

He feels himself being pushed up against the wall roughly, Zayn's arms caging him in around his head.

"What the fu--"

"Do you know what you do to me?" Zayn's breathes into his neck, rolling his hips into Harry's to emphasize his point. He grunts when Harry's hands wrap his around his waist instinctively, pulling their bodies closer together. "You drive me fucking crazy,Harry."

"Don't," Harry mumbles halfheartedly, fingers tightening on Zayn's hips even as he protests. "Please Zayn, don't," he continues weakly, breath hitching as Zayn begins to teeth at the soft skin of his neck, nudging Harry's head backwards with his nose so he can reach his favorite spot under the hinge of his jaw. Harry groans, sound almost lost in the air, but he knows Zayn hears it when he bites down hard, sending Harry's hips canting forward without his permission. What the fuck?

They're both drunk and wouldn't be doing this if they weren't, Harry thinks absently. Probably.

The music of the bar is loud and pulsing, sending vibrations through his veins, but it's distant in Harry's head. He's finally beginning to relax, mind muddled and body absolute putty in Zayn's hands as he continues to mouth wetly at his neck when Zayn pulls away abruptly, shaking his head as if he were trying to snap out of a daydream. Harry makes a low unhappy noise in the back of his throat at the loss of contact, eyes squeezed shut because he's too afraid of what he'll do if he meets Zayn's eyes. The light puffs of breath that reach his face tells him Zayn's face is still only a few inches from his own.

"Be careful tonight, Harry," Zayn says softly, bringing his hand up to Harry's face and stroking his thumb under his eye gently. Harry can't help but turn his cheek and nuzzle

into the touch, liquor making him a bit more docile than usual. "Please," Zayn adds before leaning in and kissing Harry on the mouth quickly, his hand gone as quickly as it came. Harry blinks open his eyes slowly, head heavy with alcohol, and just manages to catch Zayn's figure walking into the crowd.

It's then when he spots Niall, giving him his best disapproving dad look he can muster as he makes his way towards Harry. With a sigh he slings his arm around Harry. “Reckon it's time to head out of here, eh Haz? What d’ya say, we can pick up some chips on the way or summat,” he says with a smile, pity poorly hidden in his voice. He's a good friend. The best friend, in fact. Harry loves him to death.

“Yeah,” Harry grumbles. “Let's go home.”

\---

When the knock at the door comes a little while after he gets home, Harry really can’t even bring himself to pretend to be surprised.

He pads over to the front door and unlocks it, opening it before turning around and walking back towards his bedroom. He knows who it is. Only one person comes around at this time. The sound of the door clicking shut is loud in the otherwise silent flat, and Harry doesn't even need to look to know that Zayn’s following him, his footsteps slow, tentative, like he’s not sure if he should be.

Harry doesn't even bother turning on a light when he reaches his bedroom, just curls up at the head of the bed and waits, staring blankly out the window. The position is making the room spin a bit, alcohol still muddying his veins but it's easier this way. He waits for the door to click shut.

“You haven't returned my calls,” Zayn starts, voice soft like he’s afraid of spooking Harry.

“Mmm,” Harry hums back noncommittally, picking at his fingernails and avoiding eye contact as much as possible. He's not much in the mood for a chat right now.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I wasn't-- I wasn't going to come. But. After, after tonight,” Zayn’s stumbling over his words, a rarity in his usually collected manor, “I needed to see you again.”

Harry huffs, making no effort to respond. When he doesn't, Zayn continues.

“I miss you.”

Harry visibly tenses at that, back stiff as he finally turns toward Zayn for the first time all night. He's so weak. “Yeah?” He responds, voice hopeful despite his attempt to come off nonchalant.

“Yeah,” Zayn responds matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Okay-- yeah.” Harry lays his head back down and returns his gaze to the window, unsure of how to respond from there, brain reeling.

_Zayn misses him._

Silence falls over them, Harry’s own breathing loud inside of his head; the room’s uncomfortably heavy and the air feels charged, tension still looming like a cloud above them, pressurized like a dam about to break.

Zayn pushes off from against the wall and makes his way over to the bed, perching himself at the foot of it. He's within an arm's reach of Harry’s legs and begins stroking at his ankle absently, thumbing over the delicate bones in his foot. Harry means to pull away but the instant comfort of the touch keeps him at bay.

“I miss you so much, H,” Zayn says again, so quietly Harry’s not sure he would've heard him if he wasn't laser-focused on Zayn’s every word right now.

“I know,” Harry responds, equally as quiet.

“I want to fuck you.”

They shouldn't. There's at least one thousand and one reasons telling Harry exactly why they shouldn't. Why _he_ shouldn't.

One last time won't kill him.

Harry inhales deeply, holding it a few seconds before exhaling, barely whispering “okay,” at the end of it, his head nodding subtly. “Okay,” he repeats a little louder, more for his own sake than anything.

If Zayn’s surprised, he doesn't let it show.

“Yeah?” Is all he asks.

“Yeah. But this is the last time, Zayn.”

He rolls over onto his back as Zayn knees up the bed, mumbling to himself as he brackets himself around Harry. There's a second of hesitance between them, staring each other down before Zayn leans down, lowering to his forearms as he noses along Harry’s neck the way he knows he loves.

“‘S’not the last time,” Zayn says lowly into the skin of Harry’s throat.

Harry's arms instinctively wrap around Zayn’s neck, nimble fingers playing with the hair at his nape. He means to protest when a whimper escapes him, Zayn biting down particularly hard at a spot at the base of his neck, no doubt leaving a bruise in his wake, and promptly distracting Harry completely. Zayn sucks hard at the spot, pulling the skin between his teeth periodically, worrying it until it purples.

Zayn always loved visible evidence of his claim over Harry.

When Zayn goes to pull away, Harry whines and tilts his chin back, uses his hands to gently guide Zayn’s mouth back to his throat. He can all but see Zayn’s smug smirk against his skin.

Harry's aware of the fact that Zayn knows he loves the evidence on his skin even more than he does.

The air is thick between them when Zayn finally pulls away from Harry’s now bruise-mottled neck, apparently satisfied with his work. Harry’s face contorts into a pout and he huffs at the loss of contact, eyes still closed.

When Zayn makes no effort to move again, Harry peeks his eyes open, brows knitting in confusion when he finds Zayn just starting down at him intently.

“What?” Harry asks nervously, eyes searching Zayn's face. “What's wrong?”

Zayn laughs. “Nothing. It’s--” he pauses. “God, you're a vision.”

Harry groans at that, rasping out a soft "Zayn, please,” before grinding his hips up tentatively. Zayn just tilts his head questioningly. “Please,” he repeats, quieter this time.

Zayn just smiles. “Yeah, babe. You know I have you.” He leans down and kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth, coaxing his lips open against his own while he grinds his hips down. Harry’s lips part on a moan and Zayn lines their mouths up, tongue easing inside. They start slowly, almost hesitantly, relearning each other from the inside out. Zayn’s tongue prods at Harry’s own gently, no rush in his pacing. Harry can taste the bitter mixture of alcohol and cigarettes, and it should turn him off but. It tastes like familiarity.

It's when Harry pulls his tongue into his mouth, sucking on it hard before releasing it and biting his bottom lip sharply, Zayn’s reserve crumbles. He groans against Harry’s lips, his hips stuttering before picking back up again. He hitches Harry’s legs up higher and threads his arms behind his neck, cradling his head as he grinds deep. Harry can feel how hard Zayn is, and decides the friction between them isn't cutting it, pulling his head away slightly.

Once he manages pry their mouths off of each other, Zayn immediately buries his face into Harry’s neck, breathing heavily.

“Zayn,” Harry mumbles, voice airy as Zayn starts licking at the splotches on his neck. “ _Zayn_ ,” he repeats, louder this time, prompting Zayn to finally lift his head and look at him. His eyes are hazy, alcohol still swimming through his veins.

“Harry,” he responds a little belatedly.

“This is the last time.”

Zayn just stares before shaking his head. “It's not,” he states matter-of-factly. Harry makes to respond when Zayn interrupts him. “‘M gonna fuck you like it is though.”

Harry moans brokenly, brain shorting out and just nods, a litany of _pleasepleaseplease_ pouring out of him.

They undress each other frantically, fingers catching on buttons and tangling together until they're both naked and staring. Zayn rises up on his knees and gets a hand around himself, jerking himself slowly, just teasing as he thumbs over the crown. A blurt of precome dribbles down his head and Harry hears himself groan at the sight.

Zayn grins, gaze predatory. “You wanna suck me first?” He asks smugly.

 

As if Harry’s ever said no.

He nods anyway as he makes his way onto the floor, he knows Zayn likes him best on his knees.

Zayn coos. “There’s a good lad,” he says as he moves to the edge of the bed, cock swaying as he does. Once he's settled he beckons Harry forward with one hand, the other wrapped loosely around himself.

Harry scrambles forward, loose limbed and clumsy as he does. He rests his hands on Zayn’s thighs to balance and opens his mouth, tongue hanging out like a dog. Zayn slaps it with his cock a few times, riling Harry up. He releases his grip on himself and leans back on his hands, quirking a brow at Harry. “Go on, then.”

And go on he does. Without using his hands, he immediately takes Zayn deep and sucks him down to the root, making Zayn choke out a gasp. “Christ,” he mutters, raking his hands through his hair.

 

Harry preens. If this is the last blowjob he gives Zayn, he's gonna make sure it's the best one. Give him something to remember him by. Make sure he couldn't forget it even if he wanted to.

Harry really goes at it then, bobbing his head up and down quickly, tongue laving over the underside of the head as he does. The room is quiet sans Zayn’s heavy breathing and the wet squelch of spit as Harry works at it, so Harry decides to amp it up a notch. He relaxes his throat and eases Zayn’s cock deeper, the tip brushing the back of his tongue, just a hint at what Harry's capable of. The effect is immediate: Zayn curses loudly before lurching forward, grabbing Harry by the back of the head and pushing him further down, hunching over him completely.

“Oh my-- _fuck_ ,” he shudders out when Harry swallows around him, throat muscles contracting and squeezing the head of Zayn’s cock tight. Harry has tears streaming down his face as Zayn thrusts shallowly into his mouth, still buried deep and bumping the back of his throat with every jerk forward. “God, Harry, your fucking mouth, _shit,_ ” Zayn bites out hoarsely.

 

Harry’s brain is screaming for a breath of air but he just squeezes his eyes shut and lets Zayn continue to have his way with him, trying to breathe through his nose as best as he can. A few seconds pass, and they might as well have been minutes, before Zayn pulls Harry off by his hair, panting heavily now.

Sucking in a huge gulp of air, Harry gasps, chest heaving as oxygen floods his system, leaving his head a bit hazy in its wake. He doesn't even notice his eyes are still closed until Zayn runs his thumb across his cheeks, wiping away the wetness left there, whispering a low “open your eyes, babe,” as he does.

Slowly Harry blinks his eyes open, peering up and Zayn and Zayn groans. “God, look at you.” Harry imagines he must be a sight, with his lashes clumped together with tears, cheeks ruddy, lips swollen and mouth lax, all while on his knees for Zayn.

Suddenly he feels himself being pulled up from the floor abruptly by his armpits, Zayn hauling him onto the bed roughly. The bed squeaks in protest as he lands, limbs sprawled out everywhere in the middle of it.

Zayn reaches out to the nightstand and grabs the bottle of lube that sits in the drawer permanently before settling between his spread legs, gaze predatory like a lion stalking his prey. He goes to open the lube but stops himself, looking down at Harry thoughtfully. Harry fights the urge to squirm, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze.

 

Zayn just grins.

“Want me to eat you a little bit, H?” He asks casually, grin widening when Harry gasps.

“Yeah, yes, _please_ ,” he all but begs. There's few things he likes more than Zayn’s mouth on his arse, and if this is their last time together he wants everything.

“It's not the last time,” Zayn scolds him, and Harry realizes he must've said that last bit out loud.

With a firm grip on his hips, Zayn flips Harry over, maneuvering him how he likes; his chest is pressed into the mattress and his arse in the air, legs spread far enough to be just on the edge of uncomfortable.

“Christ, that sight’ll never get old,” Zayn says under his breath. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Harry just whines in response, pushing his arse out like an invitation.  

Zayn accepts. It's only polite.

The first lick comes without any warning, Zayn’s tongue flat and broad as he drags it across Harry’s hole slowly. It surprises a grunt out of Harry and he arches his back even further in response. Zayn gets to work then, licking quick, messy strokes to get Harry nice and wet. Harry hums, eyes closed in contentment with his head resting on his arms.

Just as abruptly as he started, Zayn suddenly switches his method, pointing his tongue and prodding into Harry’s hole, bringing both hands up to spread Harry’s cheeks as far as he can. He starts stabbing his tongue in and out quickly, coaxing breathy gasps out of Harry as he loosens up under Zayn’s skilled tongue. Zayn pulls his face away, causing Harry to make a low unhappy noise in protest that quickly turns into a loud moan when Zayn spits directly on his hole, spreading it around with his fingers. He brings his face back to Harry’s arse and teethes at his rim, making Harry cry out.

“Please Z, don't tease me,” Harry pleads, pushing his arse out again. His brain is muddled, laser-focused on the wet prod of Zayn’s tongue. “Just eat me babe, please.”

“Gonna eat you good, babe,” Zayn soothes, spreading Harry apart again. He really goes at it then, fucking Harry with his tongue and getting as deep as his jaw will allow him. Harry is absolutely writhing, a constant stream of weak gasps and curses filling the air as Zayn works him over.

Harry feels a familiar feeling stirring in his stomach, heat rushing to his core. “‘M so close, I-- _oh_ , Zayn, _please_ ,” he begs, rolling his hips in time with Zayn’s tongue. “Finger me, God, I need--” he cuts off abruptly with a loud moan as Zayn wraps a hand around his cock, tugging at him harshly.

“Come on, you can come,” Zayn encourages, pulling him off even faster.

And he does with a shout, spurting all over Zayn’s fist and coating the sheets in white. The hand on his cock keeps stroking him through the aftershocks, and doesn't stop even when he begins to twitch with oversensitivity. He whimpers as Zayn eases his tongue back out of his arse, stroking his hips soothingly.

“Gorgeous,” Zayn says quietly, slicking his fingers up with lube before petting at the skin around Harry’s rim lightly, just getting him wet.

 

After a few seconds he presses the tip of his index finger against his rim, applying light pressure just to tease him. Harry just moans and Zayn pushes his finger into the second knuckle making Harry cry out.  

Zayn leans over Harry and nudges at his cheek, prompting Harry to turn his head for a messy kiss, tongues sloppy against each other, Zayn’s finger working in and out of Harry languidly.

Zayn fingers Harry like that quickly, one finger becoming two and two becoming three in minutes, Harry already loose and licked open from earlier. It's not until Harry’s rocking back on three fingers that Zayn finally pulls them out, wiping them against the back of Harry's thighs. He moves to grab the lube again when he suddenly stops, face unreadable.

“What’s the mat--” Harry starts, rolling over to his back, when he's abruptly interrupted by Zayn.

“Do I need a condom,” he rushes out, voice strained. When Harry doesn't answer immediately, Zayn starts to babble. “Please, baby, tell me you haven't,” he says, a hint of desperation in his voice as he leans down and buries his face in Harry’s neck.

“Haven't what?” Harry asks breezily. “Fucked anyone else bare?” Zayn bites down hard at a bruise high on Harry’s neck at that, making him whimper high in his throat, the pain making his head spin. “I haven't,” he breathes out, voice airy while Zayn teethes at his jaw. “You know I wouldn't.”

It's Zayn who groans then, hips snapping forward instinctively. He leans back on his haunches and makes quick work of slicking himself up, nudging the head of his cock against Harry’s rim tentatively. They both moan when Zayn’s tip catches on Harry’s rim, pressing in slightly before slipping out.

“C’mon, put it in,” Harry slurs, voice slow and thick with arousal. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Zayn pants, lining himself up before pressing in, applying more and more pressure until Harry’s slick rim gives in and the wet head of Zayn’s cock pops inside, stretching Harry wide. Zayn slowly starts to nudge himself inside, hips thrusting gently as he inches further in. By the time he's bottomed out, balls nestled against Harry’s arse, Harry is panting heavily, chest heaving as he adjusts. He lifts a hand and presses it to Zayn’s stomach, silently asking him for a minute to adjust.

“It’s been a while,” Harry explains as his breathing begins to return to normal. After a few moments he takes a deep breath, wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck and nods, signaling he’s good. “You can move now.”

Zayn wastes no time then, drawing his hips back and thrusting in deep, fucking a high pitched whimper out of Harry. The sound of skin on skin is loud in the room, Zayn’s brutal rhythm interrupted only by Harry’s constant slew of moans, his breathing laboured. Zayn hitches Harry’s legs higher on his hips and angles his thrusts downward, hitting Harry’s prostate perfectly, sending shockwaves down his spine. He immediately tenses with a pained shout, nails nearly drawing blood on Zayn’s back.

“Slow, please go slow,” Harry gasps, eyes shut and brows furrowed, his mouth turned down in a frown. “‘m’sensitive, fuck.”

Zayn slows down then, stays deep and grinds his hips against Harry’s, grunting lowly at the change of pace.

“You're still so fucking _tight_ ,” he bites out, voice strained with concentration as he fights the urge to pound into Harry, still just circling his hips in small figure eights. He leans down for a kiss, mouths too uncoordinated to line up properly, but he lets Harry bite at his bottom lip while he begins lightly stroking his own cock, whining into Zayn’s mouth at the sensation, just on the edge of too much.

Eventually slow seems to stop working for Zayn and he starts to build up the pace, fucking into Harry a little faster, a little harder.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Harry moans at a particularly hard thrust, arching his back and jerking his cock in time with Zayn’s hips, his other hand still tangled around Zayn’s neck, fingers tangled in his hair. He's so overwhelmed now, pain and pleasure mixing and muddying his brain, his nerve endings shot with the sensory overload.

“Harder,” Harry grunts, hand flying up and down his cock now, eyes rolled back in pleasure. “You can-- you can fuck me harder, c’mon.”

Zayn doesn't have to be asked twice. He leans back and grabs Harry by the back of the knees, spreading him wide before leaning forward, effectively folding him in half. He slides Harry’s legs to the crook of his elbows so he can pin his arms down by his wrists as he fucks him mercilessly, hips driving into Harry’s pliant body roughly.

Harry’s an absolute mess below him, his constant stream of moans that sound like they've been ripped from his chest are the only thing that can be heard above the wet slap of skin on skin. His head is spinning, brain absolutely haywire with pleasure. Every few thrusts Zayn chokes out a groan, grunting out curse words under his breath.

With both of his wrists held down, Harry’s cock lies neglected on his stomach, hard and heavy, slapping against their abs wetly, precome pooling between them. He's close again, feels the heat that's burning below the surface of his skin and needs to get a hand in himself, needs that little push to tip him over the edge.

He's speaking before he even notices, pleading with Zayn. “Touch me, touch me, please fucking touch me,” he begs, knowing the answer before Zayn even responds.

“Doesn't seem like I have a hand available babe,” he says, voice strained but his smirk is evident in his tone, teasing.

Harry wails at that, still teetering right on the edge of coming. There's tears in his eyes, which would probably concern other people, should concern other people, but Harry knows Zayn understands. He knows Harry loves it, loves being told no and being ripped to pieces just to be put back together again.

“Zayn, please, I can't,” he begs again, legs shaking with exertion. He’s sucking in huge gulps of air now, breathing erratic and choppy. He loves the loss of control; the amount of trust he gives over to Zayn is something he's never given to anyone else.

Doesn't want to give to anyone else.

But this is the last time.

A sob racks through him at that, reality of the situation cutting through him like a knife. Zayn takes it as a good thing and starts fucking Harry twice as hard but shortening his thrusts, going from deep to deeper. Eventually his hips start losing their rhythm, thrusts erratic and Harry knows he's close.

Zayn finally releases Harry’s wrists, letting his legs fall from his elbows and leans back over Harry, huffing as he lowers himself to his forearms so their chests are touching, both damp with sweat. Immediately Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s back, holding on tight as he's fucked up the mattress with the force of his thrusts.

When Zayn shifts his weight to one arm and brings the other down to start playing with the head of Harry’s cock, Harry all but screams, even the slightest touch dizzying after so long with nothing.

It's a matter of minutes before Harry is crying out, knuckles white and body rigid. “I’m gonna come, Zayn, make me come,” he heaves between heavy breath.

“Yeah baby, I know,” Zayn coos, tightening his grip on Harry’s cock as he jerks him off faster, sending him barreling towards his finish. “Come for me, Harry,” he murmurs before swiping his thumb across the tip of his cock, wetting it with precome before bringing it to his mouth and sucking on it obscenely.

Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head. “Oh my fuck--” he manages to choke out. “Zayn,” he tries again, voice thick with tears.

“Yeah, let go babe.”

“God, I, _fuck_ \--,” Harry moans, he's so, _so_ close.

Zayn squeezes tight at the head of his cock and Harry’s gone, crying out a pained, “I love you,” before he can think twice about it, mind whiting out as his body reaches its peak.

The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Zayn’s face, eyes wide and face unreadable as he continues to jerk Harry through his orgasm.

When he comes back, brain still in a daze he realizes Zayn is still fucking him, face contorted in concentration as he chases his own release. Harry brings a shaky hand up to Zayn’s face and cups his cheek gently, smiling dopily, still high on the rush of his orgasm. A deep moan rumbles out of Zayn as he nuzzles his face into Harry’s hand, and it's only a few moments before he buries himself deep and stays there, releasing hot and wet inside of Harry with a shout. He thrusts a few more times, milking it a little before pulling out and pulling Harry into him, holding him tightly like he knows Harry needs.

He always knows what he needs.

As Harry comes down, face buried in Zayn’s chest he remembers what he said. _I love you I love you I love you_ playing on repeat in his head like a broken record.

Harry’s an idiot.

He shakes the thought and allows himself to pretend, snuggles closer to Zayn in comfortable silence for a few minutes longer. Maybe Zayn didn't hear him. He prays for as much.

When Zayn moves to get up, Harry clears his throat abruptly. “You um, you can stay,” he says hesitantly, sounding more like a question than anything. Zayn nods and goes to lay back down when Harry adds “but you have to be gone in the morning,” quickly. Zayn just nods again and uses the edge of the sheet to clean them up as best as he can before pulling the comforter over the both of them, easing Harry onto his side before curling around him, arm tight around his waist.

Zayn falls asleep quickly, exhausted after a long fuck with the remnants of alcohol easing the way. His even breaths wash over Harry, putting his racing mind at ease.

I love you.

\---

In the morning Zayn makes good of his word and gets up early, shuffling around the room quietly as to not wake Harry. He’s already awake, is the thing, but it's easier to fake being asleep than to face Zayn right now. Harry listens to him mess around the room for a little while before he hears him make his way over to the bed again, sitting on the edge of it gingerly. Gentle fingers begin to card through his hair, untangling a few knots here and there, and he really has to fight to pretend to be asleep now, trying his best to keep his face neutral.

He’s not expecting it when Zayn starts talking quietly, more to himself than anything. “I’m gonna fix this babe,” he whispers. I’ll make this right.” He mumbles something else that Harry strains to hear but can't quite catch, his heart jumping out of his chest at what he thinks it might've been. Zayn tucks a loose curl behind Harry’s ear before he stands up, a few more minutes passing before the door clicks shut and Harry’s mind is racing again, trying to make sense of what Zayn said.

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, in fact he'd be a fool to do so, but it sounded a lot like I love you too.

\---

If Harry expected things to change overnight, he'd be wrong. Zayn doesn't call or text, there's no grand gesture written in the skies. Nothing but radio silence.

Luckily, he's far past expecting anything out of Zayn anymore.

It's a few weeks before he hears from Zayn again, and it's only right when he shows up unexpectedly at his doorstep, true to Zayn Malik fashion. He doesn’t say a thing except, “wanna go for a drive?” before turning around and walking toward his card, feet slow on the pavement.

Without thinking, Harry grabs his jacket and follows, catching up to Zayn quickly. They don't talk during the entire ride, the car silent besides the low hum of the engine. Eventually they pull up to a park of all places, much to Harry’s confusion. He turns to face Zayn, ask him what they're doing here, but he's already halfway out of the car, making his way to Harry’s side hurriedly. Still confused and unmoving, Harry barely registers Zayn opening his door for him, holding out his hand silently. After wiping his sweaty palm on his jeans he takes Zayn hand, stepping out of car cautiously. He lets Zayn lead him to a bench, an old wooden thing nestled between two big trees.

They both sit down, Harry searching Zayn’s face for an explanation when he starts to speak.

“This is my favorite spot to come and think,” he explains slowly, as if he's trying to gather his thoughts as he says them. His gaze is forward, not making eye contact quite yet, but Harry nods anyway, encourages Zayn to continue. “I've spent a lot of time here the last couple weeks,” he continues. “Thought about everything. About me, my life, my family. Thought about you.” Zayn finally looks over, soft smile on his face and Harry’s heart stops, palms suddenly clammy with nerves.

He's always been so weak for Zayn.

Zayn turns back around then, gaze forward and doesn't say anything else for a long time. It might have been a few minutes but it might as well have been hours, Harry desperate for him to continue but unwilling to ask. Long fingers card through Zayn’s hair before resting in his lap again, hands shaking slightly like they do when he really needs a cigarette. He's nervous.

They sit in silence for a few moments longer, wind whistling through the trees, when Zayn speaks up again.

“I called off the engagement.”

Harry thinks he must look like something out of a cartoon, eyes bugging out of his head as he processes what Zayn just said. I called off the engagement.

Harry’s heart is pounding, the rush of blood loud inside his head. He won't let himself get his hopes up. Not after everything they've been through. He’d be a fool to do so. “I'm-- I, uh. I'm really sorry to hear that,” he replies lamely, a few seconds late to come across genuine.

Zayn just smiles and shakes his head. “Don't be. It was never gonna work out anyway, we both knew that. No use continuing something going nowhere,” he says cooly. “Besides,” he turns to face Harry again. “Think there's someone else if I'm being honest.”

Harry’s heart is beating so loudly he's sure Zayn can hear it, thumping against his ribcage like it wasn't to burst out of his chest. “Yeah, I, yeah, definitely, I get that, I--”

“Harry,” Zayn interrupts, stopping Harry’s rambling with a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. Harry’s eyes are boring holes into the hand on his leg, brain going at a mile a minute. “Harry,” Zayn repeats, louder. “Harry look at me.”

Harry’s head shoots up, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights as he stares at Zayn, waiting for him to continue. Distantly, he can hear his own heavy breathing but ignores it in favor of focusing on Zayn completely.

“Did you mean it?”  

“Did I mean wh--”

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” Zayn asks carefully, watching Harry's face intently.

There's really no use in lying.

“Yes,” Harry whispers, voice barely audible as he nods his head slightly. “Of course I did.”

“Harry,” Zayn starts again, eyes searching his face for any hints of a lie. “Harry, you know I'm complete shit at this,” he continues, reaching out and taking Harry’s hands in his own. “I'm such shit at this,” he repeats with a laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe it.

Harry gives him an encouraging smile and squeezes Zayn's hands, silently asking him to go on.

Zayn nods and takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry for everything I've done to you. For dragging you through my own bullshit because I couldn't do it alone. You didn't deserve that and I'm sorry. I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain how sorry, but I'm willing to try.” He stops for a second, taking another deep breath before continuing. “I know I've hurt you and I know you deserve better, you deserve the fucking world, but you need to know that I love you.”

Harry’s heart stops.

“It's taken me so long to come to terms with it because it terrifies me. You scare the shit out of me, H.”

“I--” Harry tries to cut in.

“Please,” Zayn interrupts quickly. “I have to get this all out. Having you in my life makes me nervous because I don't know what I’d do without you in it. I've never-- I've never felt so overwhelmed in my life but I don't want it to stop. I’m in love with you, Harry.”

Harry gapes, brain unable to find the words to voice his thoughts, emotions running wild. When he doesn't say anything Zayn pulls his hands back slowly.

“Please say something,” he pleads, voice higher than usual.

“I-- it’s not that easy Zayn,” he begins slowly, organizing his thoughts as he goes. “We can't just play house like nothing in the past happened, it doesn't work like that.”

“I know, but,”

“No, listen to me,” Harry says firmly, determined to get his point across. “We started out completely wrong and we can't go on from here like this. It'll never work, Z. There's no saving this, whatever it is.”

Zayn's face falls.

“Okay, Yeah. I um. I underst--”

“But,” Harry cuts into his rambling, Zayn's head perking up at that. “But maybe we can start over from the beginning and go from there,” he continues slowly like he's really considering every word he says. “I’m willing to try if you are.”

Zayn just nods like an idiot,a stream of yesyesyes leaving him in a rush before he stands up, repeating “from the beginning,” thoughtfully as he maneuvers himself in front of Harry.

Zayn holds out his hand towards Harry and when he grabs it with his own, Zayn pulls him to his feet, keeping them an arm's distance away, hands still locked together.

Curiously Harry glances down at their hands, confusion coloring his features but he's still smiling nonetheless. Suddenly they're shaking hands and Harry’s even more confused, shooting a glance up at Zayn who's smiling brightly.

“Hi, he says with a laugh. “My names Zayn Malik.”

Harry barks out a laugh of surprise at that, rolling his eyes playfully at Zayn’s very literal interpretation of starting over, but going along with anyway.

“It's nice to meet you, Zayn. M’names Harry. Harry Styles,” he replies cheekily, color rising in his cheeks slightly.

“Well, mister Harry Styles, I'd really, _really_ like to take you on a date tonight.”

Harry can't help but laugh, giddy in a way he hasn't felt in ages. He knows they're being silly but it's a lightheartedness their relationship never had before.

“Well, mister Malik, I would love that,” he says with a smile so wide it'd rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

Zayn laces their fingers together and Harry pulls him in for a kiss, just a light peck on the mouth. He pulls away almost shyly before leaning in one more time, lingering a little longer this time. This time when he pulls away he lets Zayn lead him back towards the car, both ready to leave the park now.

They make their way over hand in hand, the newness of everything absolutely nerve racking but exciting at the same time. It makes Harry’s stomach tighten up in the best way, so he just hums contentedly and leans further into Zayn’s side

Nothing's certain, and they can't even tell what tomorrow will bring them, _but it's a start_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is, as a matter of fact, not the end.


End file.
